you could be my remedy
by shamelesslysixfeetunder
Summary: "'Why don't you talk' Why do you ask so many questions? She thinks sarcastically. / Or where Ally is mute and Austin is her therapist. / AU Auslly one-shot.


_**you could be my remedy**_

**summary: "'Why don't you talk?' **_**Why do you ask so many questions? **_**She thinks sarcastically. / Or where Ally is mute and Austin is her therapist. / AU Auslly one-shot.**

Hey guys! I'm back with another one-shot. (I don't like this one. :P)

R5 and All Time Low are like my life now. (it's a good life.)

I don't own anything you may recognize. :)

Yeah, so I'm going to Cross Country soon, so bye! I love you all! :)

~Kayleigh

(R5 album countdown [it's on iTunes pre-order]: 33 days)

(Word count: 1,626)

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_you could be my remedy_

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Ally sits in the cold, hard chair, staring blankly at the wall while she waits for her appointment with Dr. Moon. This will be her fourth appointment in a week, and needless to say she's not looking forward to it.

She's heard things about Dr. Moon; not all of them nice.

Inwardly, she's fuming because _she doesn't want to be here. She's been to enough therapists in her lifetime._

Some days, she wants to throw something at the whitewashed walls and scream profanities at the so-called "experts." Always, _always_, she tells them, _I have no problem, I'm perfectly sane, I don't need your help_, but they don't believe her.

She doesn't blame them, really. There's not much belief in her crumbling-at-the-seams household.

"Ms. Dawson?" The receptionist asks, her gaze fixated on the stack of papers on her desk. She flips through what seems like endless stacks to Ally, and finally glances up when she realizes that Ally is still sitting in the metal chair in the middle of the waiting room.

"Ms. Dawson? You can go in. Dr. Moon is ready for you. Don't worry, he's very nice. And I'm not just saying that because he's my boss." She laughs, but Ally's gaze remains stony.

She presses the button for the inter-room communication system and whispers, "Mr. Moon?... Ms. Dawson is sitting in the waiting room... Yes, could you come get her?... Alright, thank you."

Ally watches a little boy exit from Dr. Moon's office, looking happy while he holds a lollipop in his hands.

_I remember when I was like that_, Ally thinks, _all happy and cheerful. _

Her gaze slides to the ceiling and her eyes trace the patterns in the paint job. _A worm, a rope, a wire, a bunny on a bicycle..._

"Ally?" A voice asks, but she keeps her eyes to the ceiling and sighs. _Don't look at him. He'll ignore you if you do._

"Ally Dawson?" The same voice asks yet again, and she closes her eyes and places her hands over her ears. _I don't want to see or hear anything related to therapists again. Never again._

Her head is pounding and she's shaking. _Why is this stupid waiting room so cold? Gosh..._

Somebody removes her hands from her ears and gently takes her wrist. "Okay, Ally, it's your turn. Let's go into the office."

She wants to protest, but she can't. Her mouth opens and closes, opens and closes, and her head and throat hurt with the effort involved in trying to speak.

She hears a door open, and she's sat down in a chair that's comfy and soft. _Why are the chairs in the waiting room so hard and cold and this one so soft and warm?_

She won't give this stupid therapist the satisfaction, and she refuses to relax, no matter how comfy his chairs are.

"Okay, Ally. Just open your eyes." Surprisingly, his voice isn't annoying soothing like all the other therapists she's been to. It's upbeat and nice, and despite her best efforts, her eyes flutter open slowly.

Sitting in front of her is her childhood friend Austin Moon. She hasn't seen him since she moved to Malibu twelve years ago, and she has to admit that he's definitely grown into his looks.

She bites her lip, and takes out a piece of paper from her pocket so she can communicate. _Hello_, she writes, and then slides the paper over the desk to Austin.

"'Sup?" He nods, and she's a little taken aback by his informal manner. Most therapists are stuffy, and speak with a clipped accent, usually British. Their offices smell of the latest Michael Kors perfume, but his smells of clean linen and lemon. It's a nice mixture, though it seems a little out of place here.

_Well, you're the third therapist I've been to this week. What do you think is up?_

"I know you from somewhere," He says, his eyes narrowing as he tries to recognize her. "Like we were classmates when we were younger... How old are you?"

She raises an eyebrow and scribbles, _24. You?_

"I'm twenty-four too. So why are you here?" He asks, and her eyes flick to the file on her that's laying on his desk.

_I don't talk. I cut myself. I'm depressed. My parents were worried, so they decided to intervene. I'm living in a padded room, like a mental person, but thankfully I'm straitjacket-free._

"Why don't you talk?" _Why do you have so many questions? _She thinks sarcastically.

_I don't mention it to anyone. Not even therapists my age._

"Why not?"

_Why do you have so many questions? Answer mine and I answer yours._

"It's a deal. So why do I ask so many questions? Well, I like to think that I'm a naturally curious person. Now answer mine. Why don't you mention it? Is it too personal?" He arches an eyebrow, and he looks so ridiculous doing so Ally almost laughs. _Almost._

_Bingo. And I'm assuming you want to know why I don't talk too._

"Yeah. I do. I'm here to help you. You know, work through your problems and stuff. I had a bad childhood too. My friend Ally helped me through it." He says, and she sits up straighter because _she remembers his past._

_I know about your childhood. I am Ally._

"Wait, seriously? Ally? It's you?" He asks, and his smile is so contagious that Ally finds herself smiling too.

_In the flesh_, she thinks, and she opens her mouth to speak. But she can't, and it hurts too much to. So she closes her mouth and drops her smile.

Her fingers trace the white lines on her wrists in her lap, and she lets a piece of hair fall and cover her face. _I'm pathetic. Now I understand why all my friends left me._

She casts her eyes downward and feels Austin's stare burning into the top of her head.

"Hey, Als?" Austin asks, and a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth when she hears the childhood nickname. She represses the urge, and bites her lip. "C'mere."

He stands up, and grabs Ally's hand and pulls her up as well. She watches him, her gaze flickering everywhere as he maneuvers around the desk to meet her.

He wraps his arms around her waist suddenly, and it takes her a few moments to respond. But her arms wrap around his neck, and she has to stand on her toes.

Ally has to admit that he gives good hugs. They're warm and they feel like the home she never had, or will have.

She breaks their hug and sit down, grasping the paper in her hands. He takes a seat at the desk, smiling like a maniac.

_So you wanted to know why I don't talk. You're the first person to know this. Not even my parents know._

"I feel honored," Austin says, and he's still smiling when he tells her this.

_You shouldn't,_ Ally thinks bitterly, and continues to write.

_It began when I moved to Malibu. Everything was good and happy, but then my dad died of a heart attack. My mom went into shock and I was forced to take care of both of us. Since I had to cook and clean and pay the bills, I didn't have a lot of time to worry about my appearance. I never wore makeup or dressed like the others. I didn't speak much, because I was so tired and it just became a hassle to open my mouth. And then I was bullied for four years. Every day, I was slammed against the lockers and called things I don't like to repeat. I went out shopping for clothes once and a group of boys ambushed me and beat me up. Then I was labeled mute, and I guess I haven't spoken since then. The bullying was really hard on me, so I began to cut myself. And even when I went to college, the bookworms avoided me and the fraternity boys and the sorority girls forced me to do things I didn't want to do. My mother remarried a horrible man, and he beats me to this day. So you wanted to know why I don't talk? There it is. The whole, ugly truth, all on paper. _

"Ally, I know life's been hard on you. But I remember how much you loved music. Just forget the past and live in the present. I miss the sound of your voice." He speaks softly, and she wonders why exactly she's letting these memories get to her.

She opens her mouth to speak and _it doesn't hurt anymore_. She can talk!

"I... Oh my gosh. I'm talking. I'm talking, I'm talking, I'm talking! I'm talking!" Ally fans herself excitedly as words pour out of her mouth for the first time in years. "Austin, you did it! I'm talking! I'm freaking _talking_!" Her smile is wide and she jumps out of her seat.

"I think a celebration is in order," Austin smirks, and suddenly Ally's pulled back into the happy memories with him.

"I think so as well," she smiles, and Austin grabs her hand and pulls her out of the office. When she emerges, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, talking Austin's ear off, her mother faints from shock.

"Hey, Lila?" Austin says, nodding to the receptionist, "I'm taking the rest of the day off. I have some catching up to do." Ally tightens her grip on his hand and smiles.

"But, sir-" Ally hears her say as they exit the waiting room and enter the bright, beautiful sunlight.

She's smiling and talking and laughing, and she knows that _Austin is her remedy._


End file.
